। ॥
In plain words
O Kāmākṣī, your glance, sick with love, slow of step, goes to Śaṅkara along a path veiled in the darkness of your lovely hair, like a woman stealing out to the place where she has agreed to meet her lover.
Word for word
By a path lovely-hair-lustre-darkness-veiled, slowing-gait, love-sick this, Kāmākṣī, the glance goes your to Śaṅkara, to the tryst-ground soon, an abhisārikā like.